28.4.00
Word Stew, With Just a Hint of Emotion
(Served With a Side Plate of Meta)
I must be the only woman in the world who suffers from all the "symptoms" of PMS after the fact. (Maybe I'm not; you can feel free to tell me if I'm presumptuous rather than unique.) By symptoms I refer to the characteristic bitchiness that surrounds the act of bleeding five days straight without a break; the grumpiness that comes with having to deal with people whilst I'm in immense pain; the love/hate moodswings that come out of nowhere ("I love you." Five minutes later... "Nnooohh... dontouchme."), the inability to concede that I'm being a complete cow and just apologise gracefully (rather than a mumbled, "Sorry.").
That pretty much sums up my mood right now.
Even though I haven't been here, I have been writing (or trying to). Words tucked away messily in my notebook, scrawled amongst drawings and sketches for websites (I've been drawing more than writing, I think... Nathan's existing comicbook collection plus a trip to the comic book store on Wednesday afternoon has given me a little inspiration in the "art" department... depending on what comes of it, I might do a little show and tell for you soon), not expressing much of anything. I've been disappointed in my own lack of expression, the dull echo of my entries all being the same, and hence wanting to hide from the world, from this, from everyone for a while. (The fact that someone unsubscribed themselves from my meagre mailing list was also kind of insulting and added further to the whiny mantra, "I suck.")
And what did I write about? I wrote about emotions and writing, of course. Nothing like a good hearty round of "Name That Moodswing" or "I Write, Therefore I Suck" to get the creative juices flowing. Just to try and force some words out I even wrote about talkshow guests on "Jenny Jones" (don't look at me like that, the only talkshows I got to watch in Australia were "Ricki Lake", "Oprah", and occasionally - when it wasn't being cancelled - "Jerry Springer". You know you have the urge to watch trash tv sometimes - just admit it!), but after a while I found that there's only so many ways you can use the word "skank" before it loses its mocking flavour. I discovered that my touch for poetry is officially gone when all I could dredge up in the form of verse was an ode to ice hockey, which would be probably get laughed off the page if I dared show it to the masses.
I fought with myself even over this place of text, trying to work out what would probably amount to a thesis if I let myself get carried away: "How Should I Write My Journal?" Funny, or dramatic? Casual, or written like a novel? Can I switch styles? Is that okay? Do all of these forms represent my voice? Do I even have a writing voice anymore? For that matter, did I have one to begin with? That, as you can see, would have been a very bad time to embark upon the quintessential writer's essay, "Why Do You Write?".
Adjusting To America: An Update
Well, there's not much to say here. I've gotten used to the whole driving-on-the-other-side-of-the-road thing, and I could do an analytical comparison between Australian and American feminine hygeine products here, but I'm sure you don't want to know about that. (Not much difference, really. Don't tell me that that was too much information for you.) I had an eye test on Monday (just to prove that God is alive, well, and mocking all of us, I was to get glasses before I left for the States, but didn't bother because I was cost-cutting like you wouldn't believe. What happens within my first fortnight here? Yes, you're right, my glasses broke. And you'd be right again in assuming that I didn't bring the prescription for my lenses with me, either.), and all that was different here was the "puff of air" test. What the hell is that all about? I almost jumped out of my seat. The optometrist's assistant took pity on me and didn't do it a third time, probably because I looked like I was going to cry. I also had a glaucoma test - three sets of eye drops that I think are designed first to make the patient scream in agony before being even remotely useful in the process of dilating their pupils.
Or perhaps I'm just a wimp.
Other notable differences: soft drink. Australian coke tastes much better than American coke. Root beer is just sarsparilla with a different name. Sunkist is the same in both countries, thank God. I'm never getting Cherry 7 Up again. Dr. Pepper sucks no matter where you are. If an Australian asks for lemonade, just get her a Sprite, thankyou. And who do I have to sleep with to get a lemon carbonated beverage? You have grape, cherry, peach, strawberry, orange... no lemon. I'm dying. Dying!
No pineapple, either. Boo, hiss. Whine.
Just before you think that all I have to say is bad, I do have this to say: getting to see more than one trailer before the main feature when I go to the movies is a definite bonus. As is seeing movies when they were meant to come out. Yeah!
Well, the daily early-hours repeat of "Jenny Jones" will be on in fifteen minutes, so as long as it doesn't offend the sensibilities of my oh-so-Baptist almost-brother-in-law, I'll be off to watch that. Also, a simple (or maybe not so simple) request: I'd love some advice and feedback of non-Americans who married American citizens, and what they had to do in order to stay here. Since I got into the country on a visitors visa, Nathan and I can't get married, because I won't be allowed to change status. We can get married, but if it isn't spontaneous, then I can get booted out of the country for life. We've been wanting to marry for at least a year now, and that's all we'd like right now, but if we did that - the immigration department would think collectively, "Hm, she's just after a green card, or she wants to commit fraud, or she's a secret felon seeking residence here to start a new life. Send her home!" Just mail me at sammy@katgyrl.com - even if it's just out of sympathy/empathy with no advice-like content to speak of.
And if you can also explain to me why a spontaneous marriage after a month being here would be seen as more legit than the wedding of two people who have been in love and in a stable relationship for quite some time, and were just unfortunate enough to be born in different countries, then you get a prize. I don't know what it is yet, but you'll get one!
